THE SHOE FACTORY

At 11:00 AM and 5:00 PM, if you lived in south central MTV, you could hear the whistle of The Floresheim Shoe Factory in my home town. Five days a week, a welcomed sound was the high and long whhooo that marked lunch and quitting time for the factory workers.

It was more than that though. It provided security and stability. Security that workers right in our hometown were making quality shoes and boots that would be sold in some of our family owned shoe stores. Security that women were employed in the work force and were able to make good money. Security for neighborhood kids that punctuated time that was often lost in play.

It also assured us that The Parkway would remain opened just to take care of the shoe factory lunches. The best chocolate shakes anywhere were spun on mixing machines and poured into silver tumblers that not only provided a good bang for the buck but kept them ice cold for refilling the tall glass that it came in.

I've always been fond of whistles. I still love to hear the nighttime call of the train traveling out of town. It soothes me almost like an ocean wave. A roller, soft and full of a mist-like sound. The shoe factory whistle almost made me relax, too. Work being done. Time to untuck the shirts, put on comfortable shoes, and do what I want to do on my time.

Practically everything I read now on a label says "Made in China". That's too bad. I don't like outsourcing at all. I'd rather pay more for the product and a lifetime of peripheral memories. Like the whistle.

THE HALL OF FAME AWAITS THE GREAT FREDDIE



I stood by the mascot display of the Phillie Phanatic and tried to flop my belly as he for the photo. While it's getting easier for me to do after this Summer, it still can't compare to the enormity of the Phanatic.



He's a great big, goofy guy who symbolizes something, but I don't know what it is.Well, I mean, I know-- a fanatic. He's a pretty cool mascot, though not as cool as the biggest Cardinal of them all--Fredbird

He's been around for 35 years or so Entertaining fans with his famous beak. When he spots a young fan, he opens his ample mouth and acts as if he's going to chomp the head. They know, he's only playing. At least most children know. I'm seen some afraid of him, though and even be brought to tears before the consolation from the parents.

I don't know if the Phanatic scares fans, but he should. He's huge and seems to serve no more purpose than Fredbird. But somehow, as good as he is, he just doesn't have the charm of Fred.

Bias, bias, bias. No doubt. But keep in mind the Philly fans who are proud to be the worst in baseball, even booing Santa Claus in a legendary act. So naturally, when entertaining baseball's best fans, Fredbird has the perfect audience.

Other mascots to me seem to be poor facsimiles. Mr. Met; the big Red C, or whatever the Redlegs mascot is--note the old time reference; Baxter (my vote for the worst; I mean how does a wildcat represent a snake); Billy Brewer, isn't there enough drinking at games anyhow without encouraging any others--now their sausages are cool; etc. If I can't bring to mind any more clever mascots without looking them up on the team websites, and you know I'm not much into Googling or researching anymore, then they must be non-descript.

But my thesis was that Fredbird needs to be in the Hall if the Phanatic is. Next time I'm there, I'm suggesting it. I'm sure they'd take it under advisement.

THE MOCK


Our son invented it in high school. Narrating. With windows rolled down and a huge voice projecting over our town's streets, he would simply describe what he saw. To those who cared to listen.

"Man walking. Blue shorts, brown shoes. Head down."

You can imagine some of the reactions and responses. He, and his friends, used to do it daily. In fact' one of the last times we were in MTV, he narrated his mother and me as we walked in the downtown area. No immunity.

I decided to try a variation called The Mock. While walking the boardwalk or in a mall, wherever there are many people, I'll duplicate the walk and swinging arms, for instance, of the people that I meet.

It's not bad, but I don't think my wife approves. This morning on our walk I mocked a bunch of people. A cell phone walker/talker; several dog walkers and coffee drinkers; a few arm swingers, and an ear scratcher and head turner.

None caught on today. As soon as they pass, I look for another victim. It's better when you spot them way ahead and can duplicate for a long time before the encounter.

I guess you could combine narrating and mocking, but I'm not brave enough to try.

...AND ALL THE BOARDS DID SHRINK

This is the second or tenth, I lose track, in a series of things I know. Not too clever, but keep in mind, I've never known much, and readily admit I'm not smarter than many 5th graders.

I know water. I know not to drink from a tap. Nearly never. It doesn't much matter what kind of bottled water you buy, though I'd still take Evian for the same price if I could get it. Which is rare.

Ok, big whop. Drink bottled water. Any kind. But there are two more keys, One drink it cold. As much as I like ice, you don't need it, but only if it's not ice cold. Water from a tap in the middle of Summer in a humid clime? No way. You might as well drink from the garden hose.

But the real key is to pour the cold, bottled water into a glass. Now you have a refreshing drink. Now you can hydrate and be satisfied.

Anything less, is just that--less. Go ahead try it. Try to prove me wrong. You caint.

IF YOU KNOW IT, IF YOU'VE BEEN THERE

Then you call it Budapesch rather than Budapest. We were there overnight this Summer and it is a city with old world charm. It doesn't look much different from this old photo I found from the 30's I think.

There's a river (don't ask me to look it up) But I think it's the Danube. Not the Blue Danube of lore, for we saw the Danube from several locales and it was as muddy looking as the Mississippi. Even when we took a few boat rides, one in the Pesch. (The reason they call it Pesch rather than Pest is becasue of the Black Plague.)

The plague of the 17th Century wiped out as much as 1/3 of city populations. Budapest was hard hit. No reminder, even to the day, of the pest or pestilence that occurred then is needed; thus Pesch.

Maybe the highlight of Budapest was at a Hungarian restaurant where entertainers played traditional gypsy music. It was so much fun. I even got into the act when one of the female dancers asked me to dance with her. I kinda jumped around, but she was very good. As was the goulash and other typical dishes from an earlier age..

We didn't leave Hungary hungry. But we did leave with an appreciation of the country.l